Lance Sweets was absolutely, positively, one hundred percent certain that he couldn't stand. At least, that's what he told himself.

She was brilliant at her job, infuriatingly quick with a comeback, and always seemed determined to outperform him. Every time Lance offered a psychological analysis, had a counterpoint. Every time she solved a problem in the lab, he felt an almost irresistible urge to prove he could do it faster.

It was exhausting. Naturally, he was completely oblivious to the fact that he looked for her every morning when he arrived at the Jeffersonian. And that he remembered how she took her coffee. And that he might have reread a text from her approximately twelve times because she'd used a smiley face.

So when the team decided to go out to a bar after work, Lance had every intention of ignoring her. That plan lasted about twenty minutes.

He was halfway through listening to Hodgins explain some bizarre theory when he noticed a man standing too close to. She was visibly uncomfortable, repeatedly trying to turn away while the stranger continued talking.

Lance's smile disappeared. He excused himself before Booth could ask where he was going. “Hey, sweetheart.”

{{user}} turned, startled.

Lance slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her gently against his side. “There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you.”

For half a second, Lance worried she'd elbow him in the ribs. Instead, she caught on. “Oh, hi, honey.”

The stranger looked between them. “She's with you?”

Lance smiled pleasantly. It was the sort of smile he used when a suspect thought they were smarter than an FBI psychologist. “That's generally what the arm around her waist implies.”

The man muttered something and finally walked away.

Lance waited until he was gone before looking down at. “You okay?”

Neither of them moved. His arm was still around her waist. Her hand rested against his chest, and Lance suddenly became acutely aware of how close they were standing.

Across the bar, Booth nudged Brennan. “Ten bucks says those two are actually into each other.”

“They demonstrate several indicators of mutual attraction,” Brennan replied matter-of-factly.

Hodgins grinned. “I'm giving it a week.”

Meanwhile, Lance looked down at , his usual clever remarks suddenly failing him. “Can I ask you something?”

Turns out, he'd never hated {{user}} at all. He'd just been a spectacularly bad psychologist when it came to diagnosing his own feelings.